Having the Misfortune to treat of none but CommonPeople, is necessarily of a Mean and VulgarCharacter.
In that quarter of London in which Golden Square is situated,there is a bygone, faded, tumble-down street, with twoirregular rows of tall meagre houses, which seem to havestared each other out of countenance years ago. The verychimneys appear to have grown dismal and melancholy, fromhaving had nothing better to look at than the chimneys over theway. Their tops are battered, and broken, and blackened withsmoke; and, here and there, some taller stack than the rest,inclining heavily to one side, and toppling over the roof, seems tomediate taking revenge for half a century’s neglect, by crushingthe inhabitants of the garrets beneath.
The fowls who peck about the kennels, jerking their bodieshither and thither with a gait which none but town fowls are everseen to adopt, and which any country cock or hen would bepuzzled to understand, are perfectly in keeping with the crazyhabitations of their owners. Dingy, ill-plumed, drowsy flutterers,sent, like many of the neighbouring children, to get a livelihood inthe streets, they hop, from stone to stone, in forlorn search of somehidden eatable in the mud, and can scarcely raise a crow amongthem. The only one with anything approaching to a voice, is anaged bantam at the baker’s; and even he is hoarse, in consequenceof bad living in his last place.
To judge from the size of the houses, they have been, at onetime, tenanted by persons of better condition than their presentoccupants; but they are now let off, by the week, in floors orrooms, and every door has almost as many plates or bell-handlesas there are apartments within. The windows are, for the samereason, sufficiently diversified in appearance, being ornamentedwith every variety of common blind and curtain that can easily beimagined; while every doorway is blocked up, and rendered nearlyimpassable, by a motley collection of children and porter pots ofall sizes, from the baby in arms and the half-pint pot, to the full-grown girl and half-gallon can.
In the parlour of one of these houses, which was perhaps athought dirtier than any of its neighbours; which exhibited morebell-handles, children, and porter pots, and caught in all itsfreshness the first gust of the thick black smoke that poured forth,night and day, from a large brewery hard by; hung a bill,announcing that there was yet one room to let within its walls,though on what story the vacant room could be—regard being hadto the outward tokens of many lodgers which the whole frontdisplayed, from the mangle in the kitchen window to the flowerpots on the parapet—it would have been beyond the power of acalculating boy to discover.
The common stairs of this mansion were bare and carpetless;but a curious visitor who had to climb his way to the top, mighthave observed that there were not wanting indications of theprogressive poverty of the inmates, although their rooms wereshut. Thus, the first-floor lodgers, being flush of furniture, kept anold mahogany table—real mahogany—on the landing-placeoutside, which was only taken in, when occasion required. On the second story, the spare furniture dwindled down to a couple of olddeal chairs, of which one, belonging to the back-room, was shornof a leg, and bottomless. The story above, boasted no greaterexcess than a worm-eaten wash-tub; and the garret landing-placedisplayed no costlier articles than two crippled pitchers, and somebroken blacking-bottles.
It was on this garret landing-place that a hard-featured square-faced man, elderly and shabby, stopped to unlock the door of thefront attic, into which, having surmounted the task of turning therusty key in its still more rusty wards, he walked with the air oflegal owner.
This person wore a wig of short, coarse, red hair, which he tookoff with his hat, and hung upon a nail. Having adopted in its placea dirty cotton nightcap, and groped about in the dark till he founda remnant of candle, he knocked at the partition which divided thetwo garrets, and inquired, in a loud voice, whether Mr Noggs hada light.
The sounds that came back were stifled by the lath and plaster,and it seemed moreover as though the speaker had uttered themfrom the interior of a mug or other drinking vessel; but they werein the voice of Newman, and conveyed a reply in the affirmative.
‘A nasty night, Mr Noggs!’ said the man in the nightcap,stepping in to light his candle.
‘Does it rain?’ asked Newman.
‘Does it?’ replied the other pettishly. ‘I am wet through.’
‘It doesn’t take much to wet you and me through, Mr Crowl,’
said Newman, laying his hand upon the lappel of his threadbarecoat.
‘Well; and that makes it the more vexatious,’ observed Mr Crowl, in the same pettish tone.
Uttering a low querulous growl, the speaker, whose harshcountenance was the very epitome of selfishness, raked the scantyfire nearly out of the grate, and, emptying the glass which Noggshad pushed towards him, inquired where he kept his coals.
Newman Noggs pointed to the bottom of a cupboard, and MrCrowl, seizing the shovel, threw on half the stock: which Noggsvery deliberately took off again, without saying a word.
‘You have not turned saving, at this time of day, I hope?’ saidCrowl.
Newman pointed to the empty glass, as though it were asufficient refutation of the charge, and briefly said that he wasgoing downstairs to supper.
‘To the Kenwigses?’ asked Crowl.
Newman nodded assent.
‘Think of that now!’ said Crowl. ‘If I didn’t—thinking that youwere certain not to go, because you said you wouldn’t—tellKenwigs I couldn’t come, and make up my mind to spend theevening with you!’
‘I was obliged to go,’ said Newman. ‘They would have me.’
‘Well; but what’s to become of me?’ urged the selfish man, whonever thought of anybody else. ‘It’s all your fault. I’ll tell youwhat—I’ll sit by your fire till you come back again.’
Newman cast a despairing glance at his small store of fuel, but,not having the courage to say no—a word which in all his life henever had said at the right time, either to himself or anyone else—gave way to the proposed arrangement. Mr Crowl immediatelywent about making himself as comfortable, with Newman Nogg’smeans, as circumstances would admit of his being made.
The lodgers to whom Crowl had made allusion under thedesignation of ‘the Kenwigses,’ were the wife and olive branchesof one Mr Kenwigs, a turner in ivory, who was looked upon as aperson of some consideration on the premises, inasmuch as heoccupied the whole of the first floor, comprising a suite of tworooms. Mrs Kenwigs, too, was quite a lady in her manners, and ofa very genteel family, having an uncle who collected a water-rate;besides which distinction, the two eldest of her little girls wenttwice a week to a dancing school in the neighbourhood, and hadflaxen hair, tied with blue ribbons, hanging in luxuriant pigtailsdown their backs; and wore little white trousers with frills roundthe ankles—for all of which reasons, and many more equally validbut too numerous to mention, Mrs Kenwigs was considered a verydesirable person to know, and was the constant theme of all thegossips in the street, and even three or four doors round thecorner at both ends.
It was the anniversary of that happy day on which the Churchof England as by law established, had bestowed Mrs Kenwigsupon Mr Kenwigs; and in grateful commemoration of the same,Mrs Kenwigs had invited a few select friends to cards and asupper in the first floor, and had put on a new gown to receivethem in: which gown, being of a flaming colour and made upon ajuvenile principle, was so successful that Mr Kenwigs said theeight years of matrimony and the five children seemed all a dream,and Mrs Kenwigs younger and more blooming than on the veryfirst Sunday he had kept company with her.
Beautiful as Mrs Kenwigs looked when she was dressed though,and so stately that you would have supposed she had a cook andhousemaid at least, and nothing to do but order them about, she had a world of trouble with the preparations; more, indeed, thanshe, being of a delicate and genteel constitution, could havesustained, had not the pride of housewifery upheld her. At last,however, all the things that had to be got together were gottogether, and all the things that had to be got out of the way weregot out of the way, and everything was ready, and the collectorhimself having promised to come, fortune smiled upon theoccasion.
The party was admirably selected. There were, first of all, MrKenwigs and Mrs Kenwigs, and four olive Kenwigses who sat upto supper; firstly, because it was but right that they should have atreat on such a day; and secondly, because their going to bed, inpresence of the company, would have been inconvenient, not tosay improper. Then, there was a young lady who had made MrsKenwigs’s dress, and who—it was the most convenient thing in theworld—living in the two-pair back, gave up her bed to the baby,and got a little girl to watch it. Then, to match this young lady, wasa young man, who had known Mr Kenwigs when he was abachelor, and was much esteemed by the ladies, as bearing thereputation of a rake. To these were added a newly-married couple,who had visited Mr and Mrs Kenwigs in their courtship; and asister of Mrs Kenwigs’s, who was quite a beauty; besides whom,there was another young man, supposed to entertain honourabledesigns upon the lady last mentioned; and Mr Noggs, who was agenteel person to ask, because he had been a gentleman once.
There were also an elderly lady from the back-parlour, and onemore young lady, who, next to the collector, perhaps was the greatlion of the party, being the daughter of a theatrical fireman, who‘went on’ in the pantomime, and had the greatest turn for the stage that was ever known, being able to sing and recite in amanner that brought the tears into Mrs Kenwigs’s eyes. There wasonly one drawback upon the pleasure of seeing such friends, andthat was, that the lady in the back-parlour, who was very fat, andturned of sixty, came in a low book-muslin dress and short kidgloves, which so exasperated Mrs Kenwigs, that that lady assuredher visitors, in private, that if it hadn’t happened that the supperwas cooking at the back-parlour grate at that moment, shecertainly would have requested its representative to withdraw.
‘My dear,’ said Mr Kenwigs, ‘wouldn’t it be better to begin around game?’
‘Kenwigs, my dear,’ returned his wife, ‘I am surprised at you.
Would you begin without my uncle?’
‘I forgot the collector,’ said Kenwigs; ‘oh no, that would neverdo.’
‘He’s so particular,’ said Mrs Kenwigs, turning to the othermarried lady, ‘that if we began without him, I should be out of hiswill for ever.’
‘Dear!’ cried the married lady.
‘You’ve no idea what he is,’ replied Mrs Kenwigs; ‘and yet asgood a creature as ever breathed.’
‘The kindest-hearted man as ever was,’ said Kenwigs.
‘It goes to his heart, I believe, to be forced to cut the water off,when the people don’t pay,’ observed the bachelor friend,intending a joke.
‘George,’ said Mr Kenwigs, solemnly, ‘none of that, if youplease.’
‘It was only my joke,’ said the friend, abashed.
‘George,’ rejoined Mr Kenwigs, ‘a joke is a wery good thing—a wery good thing—but when that joke is made at the expense ofMrs Kenwigs’s feelings, I set my face against it. A man in publiclife expects to be sneered at—it is the fault of his elewatedsitiwation, and not of himself. Mrs Kenwigs’s relation is a publicman, and that he knows, George, and that he can bear; but puttingMrs Kenwigs out of the question (if I could put Mrs Kenwigs out ofthe question on such an occasion as this), I have the honour to beconnected with the collector by marriage; and I cannot allow theseremarks in my—’ Mr Kenwigs was going to say ‘house,’ but herounded the sentence with ‘apartments’.
At the conclusion of these observations, which drew forthevidences of acute feeling from Mrs Kenwigs, and had theintended effect of impressing the company with a deep sense ofthe collector’s dignity, a ring was heard at the bell.
‘That’s him,’ whispered Mr Kenwigs, greatly excited. ‘Morleena,my dear, run down and let your uncle in, and kiss him directly youget the door open. Hem! Let’s be talking.’
Adopting Mr Kenwigs’s suggestion, the company spoke veryloudly, to look easy and unembarrassed; and almost as soon asthey had begun to do so, a short old gentleman in drabs andgaiters, with a face that might have been carved out of lignumvitae, for anything that appeared to the contrary, was led playfullyin by Miss Morleena Kenwigs, regarding whose uncommonChristian name it may be here remarked that it had been inventedand composed by Mrs Kenwigs previous to her first lying-in, forthe special distinction of her eldest child, in case it should prove adaughter.
‘Oh, uncle, I am so glad to see you,’ said Mrs Kenwigs, kissingthe collector affectionately on both cheeks. ‘So glad!’
‘Many happy returns of the day, my dear,’ replied the collector,returning the compliment.
Now, this was an interesting thing. Here was a collector ofwater-rates, without his book, without his pen and ink, without hisdouble knock, without his intimidation, kissing—actually kissing—an agreeable female, and leaving taxes, summonses, notices thathe had called, or announcements that he would never call again,for two quarters’ due, wholly out of the question. It was pleasant tosee how the company looked on, quite absorbed in the sight, andto behold the nods and winks with which they expressed theirgratification at finding so much humanity in a tax-gatherer.
‘Where will you sit, uncle?’ said Mrs Kenwigs, in the full glow offamily pride, which the appearance of her distinguished relationoccasioned.
‘Anywheres, my dear,’ said the collector, ‘I am not particular.’
Not particular! What a meek collector! If he had been anauthor, who knew his place, he couldn’t have been more humble.
‘Mr Lillyvick,’ said Kenwigs, addressing the collector, ‘somefriends here, sir, are very anxious for the honour of—thank you—Mr and Mrs Cutler, Mr Lillyvick.’
‘Proud to know you, sir,’ said Mr Cutler; ‘I’ve heerd of you veryoften.’ These were not mere words of ceremony; for, Mr Cutler,having kept house in Mr Lillyvick’s parish, had heard of him veryoften indeed. His attention in calling had been quiteextraordinary.
‘George, you know, I think, Mr Lillyvick,’ said Kenwigs; ‘ladyfrom downstairs—Mr Lillyvick. Mr Snewkes—Mr Lillyvick. MissGreen—Mr Lillyvick. Mr Lillyvick—Miss Petowker of the TheatreRoyal, Drury Lane. Very glad to make two public characters acquainted! Mrs Kenwigs, my dear, will you sort the counters?’
Mrs Kenwigs, with the assistance of Newman Noggs, (who, ashe performed sundry little acts of kindness for the children, at alltimes and seasons, was humoured in his request to be taken nonotice of, and was merely spoken about, in a whisper, as thedecayed gentleman), did as he was desired; and the greater part ofthe guests sat down to speculation, while Newman himself, MrsKenwigs, and Miss Petowker of the Theatre Royal Drury Lane,looked after the supper-table.
While the ladies were thus busying themselves, Mr Lillyvickwas intent upon the game in progress, and as all should be fishthat comes to a water-collector’s net, the dear old gentleman wasby no means scrupulous in appropriating to himself the propertyof his neighbours, which, on the contrary, he abstracted wheneveran opportunity presented itself, smiling good-humouredly all thewhile, and making so many condescending speeches to theowners, that they were delighted with his amiability, and thoughtin their hearts that he deserved to be Chancellor of the Exchequerat least.
After a great deal of trouble, and the administration of manyslaps on the head to the infant Kenwigses, whereof two of the mostrebellious were summarily banished, the cloth was laid with muchelegance, and a pair of boiled fowls, a large piece of pork, apple-pie, potatoes and greens, were served; at sight of which, theworthy Mr Lillyvick vented a great many witticisms, and pluckedup amazingly: to the immense delight and satisfaction of the wholebody of admirers.
Very well and very fast the supper went off; no more seriousdifficulties occurring, than those which arose from the incessant demand for clean knives and forks; which made poor Mrs Kenwigswish, more than once, that private society adopted the principle ofschools, and required that every guest should bring his own knife,fork, and spoon; which doubtless would be a great accommodationin many cases, and to no one more so than to the lady andgentleman of the house, especially if the school principle werecarried out to the full extent, and the articles were expected, as amatter of delicacy, not to be taken away again.
Everybody having eaten everything, the table was cleared in amost alarming hurry, and with great noise; and the spirits,whereat the eyes of Newman Noggs glistened, being arranged inorder, with water both hot and cold, the party composedthemselves for conviviality; Mr Lillyvick being stationed in a largearmchair by the fireside, and the four little Kenwigses disposed ona small form in front of the company with their flaxen tailstowards them, and their faces to the fire; an arrangement whichwas no sooner perfected, than Mrs Kenwigs was overpowered bythe feelings of a mother, and fell upon the left shoulder of MrKenwigs dissolved in tears.
‘They are so beautiful!’ said Mrs Kenwigs, sobbing.
‘Oh, dear,’ said all the ladies, ‘so they are! it’s very natural youshould feel proud of that; but don’t give way, don’t.’
‘I can—not help it, and it don’t signify,’ sobbed Mrs Kenwigs;‘oh! they’re too beautiful to live, much too beautiful!’
On hearing this alarming presentiment of their being doomedto an early death in the flower of their infancy, all four little girlsraised a hideous cry, and burying their heads in their mother’s lapsimultaneously, screamed until the eight flaxen tails vibratedagain; Mrs Kenwigs meanwhile clasping them alternately to her bosom, with attitudes expressive of distraction, which MissPetowker herself might have copied.
At length, the anxious mother permitted herself to be soothedinto a more tranquil state, and the little Kenwigses, being alsocomposed, were distributed among the company, to prevent thepossibility of Mrs Kenwigs being again overcome by the blaze oftheir combined beauty. This done, the ladies and gentlemenunited in prophesying that they would live for many, many years,and that there was no occasion at all for Mrs Kenwigs to distressherself; which, in good truth, there did not appear to be; theloveliness of the children by no means justifying herapprehensions.
‘This day eight year,’ said Mr Kenwigs after a pause. ‘Dearme—ah!’
This reflection was echoed by all present, who said ‘Ah!’ first,and ‘dear me,’ afterwards.
‘I was younger then,’ tittered Mrs Kenwigs.
‘No,’ said the collector.
‘Certainly not,’ added everybody.
‘I remember my niece,’ said Mr Lillyvick, surveying hisaudience with a grave air; ‘I remember her, on that veryafternoon, when she first acknowledged to her mother a partialityfor Kenwigs. “Mother,” she says, “I love him.”’
‘“Adore him,” I said, uncle,’ interposed Mrs Kenwigs.
‘“Love him,” I think, my dear,’ said the collector, firmly.
‘Perhaps you are right, uncle,’ replied Mrs Kenwigs,submissively. ‘I thought it was “adore.”’
‘“Love,” my dear,’ retorted Mr Lillyvick. ‘“Mother,” she says, “Ilove him!” “What do I hear?” cries her mother; and instantly falls into strong conwulsions.’
A general exclamation of astonishment burst from thecompany.
‘Into strong conwulsions,’ repeated Mr Lillyvick, regardingthem with a rigid look. ‘Kenwigs will excuse my saying, in thepresence of friends, that there was a very great objection to him,on the ground that he was beneath the family, and would disgraceit. You remember, Kenwigs?’
‘Certainly,’ replied that gentleman, in no way displeased at thereminiscence, inasmuch as it proved, beyond all doubt, what ahigh family Mrs Kenwigs came of.
‘I shared in that feeling,’ said Mr Lillyvick: ‘perhaps it wasnatural; perhaps it wasn’t.’
A gentle murmur seemed to say, that, in one of Mr Lillyvick’sstation, the objection was not only natural, but highlypraiseworthy.
‘I came round to him in time,’ said Mr Lillyvick. ‘After theywere married, and there was no help for it, I was one of the first tosay that Kenwigs must be taken notice of. The family DID takenotice of him, in consequence, and on my representation; and I ambound to say—and proud to say—that I have always found him avery honest, well-behaved, upright, respectable sort of man.
Kenwigs, shake hands.’
‘I am proud to do it, sir,’ said Mr Kenwigs.
‘So am I, Kenwigs,’ rejoined Mr Lillyvick.
‘A very happy life I have led with your niece, sir,’ said Kenwigs.
‘It would have been your own fault if you had not, sir,’
remarked Mr Lillyvick.
‘Morleena Kenwigs,’ cried her mother, at this crisis, much affected, ‘kiss your dear uncle!’
The young lady did as she was requested, and the three otherlittle girls were successively hoisted up to the collector’scountenance, and subjected to the same process, which wasafterwards repeated on them by the majority of those present.
‘Oh dear, Mrs Kenwigs,’ said Miss Petowker, ‘while Mr Noggs ismaking that punch to drink happy returns in, do let Morleena gothrough that figure dance before Mr Lillyvick.’
‘No, no, my dear,’ replied Mrs Kenwigs, ‘it will only worry myuncle.’
‘It can’t worry him, I am sure,’ said Miss Petowker. ‘You will bevery much pleased, won’t you, sir?’
‘That I am sure I shall’ replied the collector, glancing at thepunch-mixer.
‘Well then, I’ll tell you what,’ said Mrs Kenwigs, ‘Morleena shalldo the steps, if uncle can persuade Miss Petowker to recite us theBlood-Drinker’s Burial, afterwards.’
There was a great clapping of hands and stamping of feet, atthis proposition; the subject whereof, gently inclined her headseveral times, in acknowledgment of the reception.
‘You know,’ said Miss Petowker, reproachfully, ‘that I dislikedoing anything professional in private parties.’
‘Oh, but not here!’ said Mrs Kenwigs. ‘We are all so veryfriendly and pleasant, that you might as well be going through it inyour own room; besides, the occasion—’
‘I can’t resist that,’ interrupted Miss Petowker; ‘anything in myhumble power I shall be delighted to do.’
Mrs Kenwigs and Miss Petowker had arranged a smallPROGRAMME of the entertainments between them, of which this was the prescribed order, but they had settled to have a littlepressing on both sides, because it looked more natural. Thecompany being all ready, Miss Petowker hummed a tune, andMorleena danced a dance; having previously had the soles of hershoes chalked, with as much care as if she were going on the tightrope. It was a very beautiful figure, comprising a great deal ofwork for the arms, and was received with unbounded applause.
‘If I was blessed with a—a child—’ said Miss Petowker,blushing, ‘of such genius as that, I would have her out at the Operainstantly.’
Mrs Kenwigs sighed, and looked at Mr Kenwigs, who shook hishead, and observed that he was doubtful about it.
‘Kenwigs is afraid,’ said Mrs K.
‘What of?’ inquired Miss Petowker, ‘not of her failing?’
‘Oh no,’ replied Mrs Kenwigs, ‘but if she grew up what she isnow,—only think of the young dukes and marquises.’
‘Very right,’ said the collector.
‘Still,’ submitted Miss Petowker, ‘if she took a proper pride inherself, you know—’
‘There’s a good deal in that,’ observed Mrs Kenwigs, looking ather husband.
‘I only know—’ faltered Miss Petowker,—’ it may be no rule tobe sure—but I have never found any inconvenience orunpleasantness of that sort.’
Mr Kenwigs, with becoming gallantry, said that settled thequestion at once, and that he would take the subject into hisserious consideration. This being resolved upon, Miss Petowkerwas entreated to begin the Blood-Drinker’s Burial; to which end,that young lady let down her back hair, and taking up her position at the other end of the room, with the bachelor friend posted in acorner, to rush out at the cue ‘in death expire,’ and catch her in hisarms when she died raving mad, went through the performancewith extraordinary spirit, and to the great terror of the littleKenwigses, who were all but frightened into fits.
The ecstasies consequent upon the effort had not yet subsided,and Newman (who had not been thoroughly sober at so late anhour for a long long time,) had not yet been able to put in a wordof announcement, that the punch was ready, when a hasty knockwas heard at the room-door, which elicited a shriek from MrsKenwigs, who immediately divined that the baby had fallen out ofbed.
‘Who is that?’ demanded Mr Kenwigs, sharply.
‘Don’t be alarmed, it’s only me,’ said Crowl, looking in, in hisnightcap. ‘The baby is very comfortable, for I peeped into theroom as I came down, and it’s fast asleep, and so is the girl; and Idon’t think the candle will set fire to the bed-curtain, unless adraught was to get into the room—it’s Mr Noggs that’s wanted.’
‘Me!’ cried Newman, much astonished.
‘Why, it IS a queer hour, isn’t it?’ replied Crowl, who was notbest pleased at the prospect of losing his fire; ‘and they are queer-looking people, too, all covered with rain and mud. Shall I tellthem to go away?’
‘No,’ said Newman, rising. ‘People? How many?’
‘Two,’ rejoined Crowl.
‘Want me? By name?’ asked Newman.
‘By name,’ replied Crowl. ‘Mr Newman Noggs, as pat as needbe.’
Newman reflected for a few seconds, and then hurried away, muttering that he would be back directly. He was as good as hisword; for, in an exceedingly short time, he burst into the room,and seizing, without a word of apology or explanation, a lightedcandle and tumbler of hot punch from the table, darted away like amadman.
‘What the deuce is the matter with him?’ exclaimed Crowl,throwing the door open. ‘Hark! Is there any noise above?’
The guests rose in great confusion, and, looking in each other’sfaces with much perplexity and some fear, stretched their necksforward, and listened attentively.
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